


Quidditch Pitch

by lycanthrophilia



Category: Fever Pitch, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, im sorry i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lycanthrophilia/pseuds/lycanthrophilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Sirius Potter loves Quidditch. Like, a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quidditch Pitch

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm really sorry that this piece of my weird ass brain wrote this down and is now posting this. I have much better things to be doing. I'm so fucking sorry this is based on a Jimmy Fallon movie about the Red Sox and a boy wizard's son. If you are reading this you deserve better.

James Sirius Potter aggressively loved Quidditch. More specifically, he loved the Chudley Cannons. Ron, his godfather, had taken him to his very first game at the tender age of six, and he was completely enamored with those “morons on brooms” as most articles tended to call the team. He had been to 874 of their matches, and he had seen them win exactly four. And he remembered every single one of those games in perfect detail. The most recent one was just last summer; Ron had been with him (they were season ticket holders, naturally) and the Cannons were losing, badly, for the majority of the game. But they sent out a reserve Chaser, MacKay, who scored 15 goals in 30 minutes. It was probably the best bit of playing he’d seen in quite a while, really great defense by the team too and - 

“James?” Neville’s voice jolted him out of his daydream. “You can oversee the Gryffindor tryouts, make sure no one breaks their neck?”

“Oh, uh, yeah sure,” said James, wondering bitterly what was keeping Madam Hooch from doing it. He looked around the staff room, the youngest man in the room by quite a bit. He loved his job, he really did, but he couldn’t help but feel trapped in the castle sometimes, by stuffy old professors who didn’t always have the same interests as him. He hadn’t intended on being a professor, he had done quite poorly at Hogwarts, as a matter of fact, only excelling in Transfiguration. He had always wanted to be a Cannons player, but a foul Bludger had hit him in the head during his fifth year, leaving him with a badly injured inner ear and an inability to stay balanced on a broom.  
This was his life, at any rate, and it wasn’t so bad. He lived away from his family, who all seemed to be starting their own families. Al had just gotten engaged to his long-term boyfriend, Dominique was pregnant, and Eliza (James’ goddaughter, Teddy and Vic’s kid) was nearly seven. 

He was so entrenched in his own pitiful thoughts he barely noticed the scraping of chairs as the staff meeting ended and all his coworkers filed by him. He got up, rubbing his eyes and feeling rather tired. 

“Tryouts are next Sunday, nine AM,” Neville instructed him as he walked by. 

“Got it,” said James, following him out the door. “Why couldn’t Hooch do it?”

“I think you could use both a little more responsibility in your life and a more active role in your student’s lives,” replied Neville smoothly. 

“You know I’m a teacher here, Neville, not a student?” he reminded the older professor. Neville gave him a smile. 

“Sorry,” he said, a nostalgic glint in his eye. “It’s just hard - not to still see you as the James I taught for seven years,”

James rolled his eyes. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The following morning, James headed into the village. The full moon was the following Friday, and he needed to get Eliza her monthly sweet basket. He entered Honeydukes, breathing in the warm, sugary smell, stopping when he noticed someone new behind the counter. 

“Oh, hello!” he said brightly. All the workers there knew him, and knew exactly what he ordered. “Are you new? I don’t recognize you,”

“Not quite,” the girl said, smiling at him. “I’m just working because my aunt is ill. I work behind the scenes, making the candy, charming it and the like,” 

“Ah,” said James, approaching her and seeing her name-tag read “Laura.” She had chocolate hair that twisted up into a bun and a round face dotted with freckles. She was quite pretty. 

“Well - I’m James, I’m in here a lot.” He beamed at her. “So - I do a gift basket situation - can you help me?” He could feel himself turning the charm way up, but he was rusty. He hadn’t flirted since he’d started teaching. 

“Gift basket?” she asked. “Of course, what do you need?” 

James grimaced. Turns out his flirting did need some work - Laura was being strictly professional. Should he just ask her out? What was the harm? WAS HE A GRYFFINDOR OR NOT? 

“Er - I’ll just take some fudge, I think, and she likes Droobles a lot. Just a medley, she’ll eat most things - no Blood Pops, though,” 

He didn’t ask her out. Wuss, he thought to himself. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, did you ever know a girl named Laura at Hogwarts? Related to the Flumes? Dark hair, brown eyes?” James asked Al while they Flooed that evening. James was in his living room, on his Chudley Cannon’s rug, earing his Chudley Cannon’s pajamas. He was drinking tea out of a Chudley Cannon’s mug, and he had just finished re-reading his dad’s old copy of Flying with the Cannons before Al had popped his head in for a chat. 

“Yeah, Laura! She was a Ravenclaw, we were in some study groups together. Really bright, good at Charms. She was sweet, very nice,” his brother responded. 

“I met her today,” explained James. “She was working at Honeydukes. I dunno - I just thought she was cute,” The look on Al’s face was instantly making him regret his decision to ask him about Laura. 

“You gotta ask her out, mate!” he said excitedly. “James!” He looked like a puppy.

“I dunno,” said James. “She didn’t seem to be that into me,”

“What are you waiting for, James? What do you have to lose?” 

“My dignity,” muttered James. “I suppose I can’t disgrace the sacred name of Potter more than I already have,” 

“Come on, James,” said Al imploringly. “You’ve been single a while, you sit around and watch Quidditch all day - ,”

“I do have a job, also,” he said. “Besides, maybe I’ll just enter a lifelong commitment with the Cannons instead,”

“I thought you already did,” remarked Al. “When you were, like, ten. Come on, James,”

“If I say I’ll ask her out will you promise to never bother me ever again about it?” asked James. “And bring it up to no members of our family, extended family, or friends, included family friends and especially not mutual friends?”

“Yes!” said Al. “Do it within a week and you’ve got a deal!”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James figured he’d do it as soon as possible, rip off the band-aid and get it over with. He went into Hogsmeade Sunday, immediately seeing that Laura was not working at the counter but Cordelia, presumably Laura’s aunt, was there. 

“Hello, James, dear,” said Cordelia, giving him a smile. “Your gift basket?”

“Hi,” he said. “I actually already got it yesterday, but uh, is Laura working today, by any chance?”

She shook her head at him. “No, she’s working in the kitchens, like usual,”

“Oh,” said James, now panicking, just a little bit. “I just - I had a message for her - but I’ll try to get it to her on another occasion,” 

“I can take it to her, if you need me to,” she said. 

“No, thanks, I’ll come back later,” said James quickly, backing out the door. “Have a good day!”

He stood outside of the shop, cringing at the poor performance he had just given. Back when he was living in London, working at Quality Quidditch Supplies, he would go out all the time with ladies and get some. What happened? What was different? Then it hit him. Alcohol. Of course. He made up his mind. Saturday night he’d go to the Three Broomsticks and practice his flirting skills. 

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James was in the Lupin house for all of two seconds before Eliza came barreling into his arms. Her hair was wet and she was wearing pajamas. Her skin felt feverish, however, and there were dark rings around her eyes. The moon was tomorrow evening, and it was starting to take quite a toll. 

“Why aren’t you in bed, love?” he asked her, putting her sweet basket down. “You’re warm,”

“An excellent question,” said Teddy, coming around the corner. 

“Mum gave me a bath,” she said. “Besides, I’m always in bed when you come, it’s not fair. Can’t I stay up just a bit later, Dad? I don’t feel that bad, promise,”

“Not tonight, Eliza,” said Teddy. 

“We can play Gobstones up there,” said James. He shifted her onto his back and carried her upstairs, feeling the weight of her. She was getting so big, it made his heart ache. He remembered when she was just a newborn, and he felt like he had a purpose for living, he had to help this baby with this terrible disease and he snapped out of the tragic pity-party he was letting himself live before her birth. Teddy and Victoire had figured it out after nearly seven years, though, and they weren’t just living from moon to moon as they once were. Eliza was becoming a real person now, with opinions and feelings and becoming more than just a sick girl. He piggybacked her into her room and slipped her into bed, pulling a chair over. 

“Oh, shit, I forgot your chocolate,” he said, standing up quickly, but turned to see Victoire holding it, a slight smile on her face. 

“Don’t say shit!” said Eliza quickly. 

“Thanks, Vic,” he said, taking it from her. 

“Want anything right now?” he asked her, placing it on her bedside table. She shook her head. 

“I’m not hungry,” she said. “James, will you come over sometime and watch me fly? I’m getting really good, I think. Mum says so,” 

“Of course!” he said. “You’ll probably be good enough to play Quidditch at the Burrow this summer. You’d make a good Seeker, you’re so small. Or have Lily teach you to Beat,” Lily, the best Beater Gryffindor had seen since Fred and George, had decided during her fourth year that she wanted to focus on dueling, and quit the team, simultaneously breaking her brother’s heart. Sure, she was now a world-champion dueler, but she could’ve gone professional easily! 

“Wish you could teach me,” she said. 

“Me too,” said James. “But I can help from the ground, and watch,” 

“Will you come see me next week, when I’ve healed from the moon?” she asked him. 

“‘Course,” he said. “I’ll come as much as I can, love,”

There was a pause. 

“Gobstones?” he offered. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James had quite a time finding a wingman to accompany him to the bar Friday evening. Being a Potter-Weasley meant that your friends were your cousins, yet Louis, his best friend of almost 30 years was off with Uncle Charlie riding dragons, so he was out. Al had scoffed at his proposal for a night at the bar, and vaguely claimed he had too much to do for wedding preparations, which was still an entire eighteen months off. Lily laughed and told him he wouldn’t be caught dead at a bar with him in a million years; Rose lived in Paris, Hugo probably hadn’t left his house in six months. So he had settled on Fred, seven years his junior and still in the phase of life where he could handle waking up with a hangover every morning. They met at the entrance to Hogsmeade, Fred grinning broadly at him. 

“Ready?” he asked eagerly. “Mate, we haven’t hung out in so long! This is going to be great!”

“Yeah,” said James mildly, stuffing his hands into his pocket and feeling vaguely embarrassed about his companion. “Look, Fred, I’m just here to practice talking to girls, alright? I don’t want to get too wild,”

“Famous last words,” said Fred, pushing the door to the pub open. It was packed on a Friday night, naturally, but James distinctly saw someone familiar sitting at the bar. 

“Bullocks,” he muttered. 

It was Laura.


End file.
